


Dancing Around the Lies We Tell

by allimarie_xf



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Arrow (TV 2012) Season 1, Episode: s01e21 The Undertaking, F/M, Goodbye Olicity online gift exchange, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22593223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allimarie_xf/pseuds/allimarie_xf
Summary: The anonymous hacker who’d been helping Oliver Queen in his mission had first contacted him seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean.She certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. Who was she, in her normal life?He was resigned to never knowing. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else. Or so he told himself.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 158
Kudos: 328





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swiftlet_in_the_Cloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swiftlet_in_the_Cloud/gifts).



> Written for the Goodbye Olicity Online Gift Exchange
> 
> This story is COMPLETE and will be posted in 3 installments over the next 3 days (maybe less if I get impatient 😂).

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

> _December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper._
> 
> _Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing._
> 
> _Coincidence? I don’t think so._
> 
> _I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?_
> 
> _Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow._

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List. 

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze. 

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm. 

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of _her._

 _Huli jing._

His anonymous hacker ally. 

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow _less_ because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and a simple text document saved to the desktop:

> _I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean._
> 
> _Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s._
> 
> _(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak._

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all. 

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was almost positive) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word. 

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island. 

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note. 

> _Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the Hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction._

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all. 

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked. 

_If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you?_ He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, _You can call me huli jing._

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support. 

> _What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience._

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

> _Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re...you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought._

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support. 

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?” 

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, coming closer toward him. 

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before. 

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes. 

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the Hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible. 

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some wacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ \- pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence. 

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him. 

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged drive. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually _want_ to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false. 

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s. 

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure. 

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit. 

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless. 

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him. 

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help. 

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that the title is from the song "Team" by Lorde, which I strongly associate with Arrow (specifically OTA) because of this video: https://youtu.be/iNntF24ZMx8 
> 
> _Highly_ recommended viewing for those classic Arrow feels.

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?” 

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently. 

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.” 

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of the woman it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little...adventures and mishaps.” 

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for _you.”_

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond. 

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he _did_ feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped. 

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of _dimple._

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.” 

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them. 

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret. 

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.” 

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?” 

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of...feel around.” 

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him. He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb. 

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing. 

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response. 

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was. 

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he _saw_ her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he _wanted_ her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes...but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not. 

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes. 

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific _very_ handsome man - getting in the way of that. 

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts...her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core. 

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected. 

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists. 

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife. 

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually _were_ still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced. 

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought. She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up...but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation. 

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious, strategic manner that he was unused to in other people. 

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to _know._ He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know _her._ “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing. 

“Or, I mean, _not_ find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak. 

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer. 

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the List. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her. 

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.” 

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed. 

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind. 

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.” 

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows drew together in confusion. 

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it _is_ necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. _Please,”_ she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling hers, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss. 

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder. 

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place. 

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him. 

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how deeply his feelings ran. He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability. 

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too. 

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her ran through him like electricity. 

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water. 

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick. 

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Oh take me back to the start..._

_“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”_

_Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked._

The look Oliver sent her was clearly intended to reassure her, but Felicity’s heart and mind were still racing as Oliver tilted his head toward Alonzo with raised eyebrows and a sly smile, shrugging. “What can I say? I’ve never been able to resist a beautiful woman.”

As Oliver locked eyes with their captor, Felicity watched the bob of his Adam’s apple and it occurred to her that she was watching a transformation from the Oliver who’d just kissed her into the man she hadn’t met - the one who was splashed all over the pages of the Starling City Examiner. The smooth playboy who, she now realized, was nothing but an act.

But if the debauched pleasure-seeker was just a mask, that meant the man underneath could be anyone. 

Well, not _anyone._ Despite the short amount of time they’d spent together, she already knew a few things for sure. Contrary to the carefree, entitled image he presented, Oliver Queen was intelligent. Intense. Passionate. 

There was something familiar about him, something she recognized on a fundamental level. 

The firm body that still pressed hers into the desk was not that of a vain gym addict. She could feel the dormant violence of his tensed muscles, like a compressed spring waiting to be released. And yet with her he was gentle, careful. Even when she had been nothing but rude to him.

And the way he’d kissed her, it was like he _knew_ her. Like he meant it. It had awakened something in her that had very little to do with a typical response to being passionately kissed by someone so achingly gorgeous. 

There was only one other person who had ever made her feel that way before. The quiet, self-sacrificing man with deep wells of passion that she’d been drawn to for seven months. 

She’d tried unsuccessfully to dismiss him from her mind; repeating the lie over and over that she was only helping him for the sake of the people of Starling. She’d tried not to dwell on the person she’d studied in shadowed and blurry images on traffic cameras and cctv footage, the lean, hardened man who wore his anger like armour, protecting a heart that felt deeply. But despite what she told herself, she knew it was that man, raw and exposed in the blank spaces of the notes he left her, that had called out to her. It was that man, as much as her own principles, that had kept her coming back.

The same man Oliver had asked about. The man that he should know nothing about, that he had no reason to associate with her, unless..there was no other possible explanation. She had thought Oliver Queen was dangerous and she was right, but for all the wrong reasons. 

Oliver Queen was the Hood. 

As she looked at him, nothing could be clearer. Everything she already knew about the Hood was to be found in the person in front of her.

She could see the urge toward justice that was hidden behind his carefully casual posture. The passion to prevent suffering that was barely contained by his well-tailored suit. A suffering and tragedy that he must have personally experienced during his five missing years, she realized with a pang. 

It was him. Oliver Queen. The brooding, restrained man who gambled his health and life every night so that the disenfranchised, exploited, powerless people of Starling City could reclaim pieces of what had been taken from them. Giving them something to hope for, something to believe in. The most self-sacrificing man she’d ever known, hiding in plain sight behind a carefree, entitled persona.

Seeing him in front of her, both men united in one person, dispelled the biggest lie she’d been telling herself for seven months - that she wasn’t already in love with him.

She nudged his shoulder, causing him to glance at her, nodding with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“And besides,” he continued telling Alonzo, projecting a false boldness appropriate for a spoiled manchild used to being able to buy his way out of any predicament, “I figured I might as well try to make the best of a bad situation. Before I was so rudely dragged back here, I was having a good time at your fine establishment.” Oliver pushed away from Felicity and started moving casually toward the door in as non-threatening a manner as he could manage. “So, what am I doing here? I can only assume you’re going to invite me to your high roller room.” 

Alonzo laughed humorlessly. “You could say that.”

“How much is the buy-in?” Oliver asked breezily, trying to quickly calculate the safest way out for Felicity. 

“Well that depends on the game we’re playing. For showing up at my club uninvited? For keeping your silence? It’s gonna cost you.”

Oliver made it to the door and leaned back against it, surreptitiously locking it so they wouldn’t be interrupted. “Hey, I’m not looking to spoil anyone else’s fun,” Oliver shrugged. “I just came here looking for a good time. I have cash. How much do you want? Name your price and me and her will disappear. You’ll never hear from me again.” 

“Well, that works out really well for you, doesn’t it? No, I think I’m going to need a bit more more insurance from you than that.” Alonzo approached the desk where Felicity was still standing, watching with wide eyes, and indicated the chair facing the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Queen, and we can negotiate an agreement?”

Oliver hesitated, looking at the chair and then back at Alonzo. He took a step forward, shoulders shrugging placatingly. “An agreement? Look man, I’m offering you a lot of money and my word. That should be enough.”

Alonzo yanked Felicity by the hair, pulling out a gun and aiming it loosely toward her. “Are you sure that’s how you want to play this? I might not be able to touch Oliver Queen, but I can think of a few ways I might be able to get what I’m owed out of this card-counting blonde. For both of your debts.”

Felicity yelped, in shock and in pain, but most of all, in anger. What kind of asshole grabbed a woman by the hair?

Oliver’s jaw clenched involuntarily, his voice suddenly low and throbbing with danger, “Leave her out of this.” 

Alonzo’s eyes lit up. “Oh, so you do like her, huh? Surprising, considering I heard most women are disposable to you. I wonder what makes this one so special?” He drew a finger over her face, down her cheek and neck, lingering on her collarbones, leering down her dress. “I wonder what Oliver Queen would be willing to pay in order to ensure that no one else gets to play with his toys?”

Felicity flinched away, instinctively trying to escape his touch, only barely remembering to keep her hands behind her back, but her attention was caught by the look on Oliver’s face. She could see that he was losing it, that he was about to blow his cover. 

His eyes were dark with murderous intent, and she suppressed a shudder at the realization of how far he was willing to go in order to protect her. It should scare her, but the shiver that ran through her had nothing to do with fear. 

“Oliver,” she called shakily, knowing what he would have to do if forced to reveal his identity, “it’s okay.” She intercepted his menacing look, nodding meaningfully. Communicating, she hoped, that she had a plan. 

He dipped his head in acknowledgement, a subtle shift in his eyes changing his entire demeanor. Despite the situation, she flushed with heat at that look, at the trust that was evident as he deferred to her lead.

Alonzo was speaking, clearly delighted that he was getting under Oliver’s skin and seeing only dollar signs. “Oh, this is really something. If only the tabloids knew you had such a soft spo-” his voice cut off as the blade of a pocketknife was unceremoniously jabbed through his shoulder.

As if they had practiced the move a dozen times, Oliver immediately stepped up and swung at her captor, knocking him out cold with a single blow. 

Felicity stepped back, kicking the gun away from where it had fallen as Oliver worked silently to secure his hands. 

She scoured the room. “You locked the door?”

“Yep.” 

She returned to the computer to finish what she’d started, downloading files onto a flash drive as Oliver began searching through drawers. They were both quiet for several minutes as they easily fell into their complementary roles, the air thick with unspoken things. Finally, into the silence, Oliver said, “Huli jing.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yeah,” she answered. The word echoed for several long moments as the gravity of their changed relationship settled around them. 

Finally, he looked up at her with studying eyes. “Fox Spirit. Why?”

She glanced at him in surprise. “You know the mythology?”

Oliver shook his head. “No. But I know the Mandarin. It’s slang for a...a trouble-making woman.” The corner of his mouth lifted, the first break in tension since before Alonzo walked in. 

She cocked her head suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

He raised his hands in defense. “I didn’t make it up.”

She scrunched her face, annoyed at herself. “I did not know that. In Chinese mythology, it’s a mischievous spirit that often takes the form of a woman. But that’s not why I chose it as my name.”

He set down the file he was holding, moving into her space. “Why did you choose it then?”

She considered telling him about “GhostFoxGoddess,” about the embarrassingly juvenile pseudonym of her younger, more innocent self - an identity that no longer represented who she was, but that she still found herself wanting to honor in some way - but she decided it was too complicated to get into at the moment. Instead, “You know Mandarin?”

Oliver’s mouth opened, then closed. “I asked you first.” 

“It’s a long story,” she countered with a lifted eyebrow.

Amusement tugging at his lips, he shrugged back, “It’s a long story.”

She rolled her eyes, the smile she’d been holding back finally breaking through.

Utterly disarmed, he found himself confessing, “I wasn’t always on the island.”

She looked up, stunned. That was a huge admission, and when she’d asked him about knowing Mandarin, she had expected a story about private language tutors growing up, not a bomb like that. 

Oliver was a little shocked too, that he dropped something so casually that he had been tightly holding onto for so long. But it felt right. “I spent about a year in Hong Kong. And before that, on the island, I had teachers who spoke Mandarin.”

Felicity pressed her lips together. “You got language lessons while you were a castaway?”

He huffed in acknowledgement, appreciating her obvious attempt to let him off the hook. “Among other things.”

Her eyes swept significantly down his body, taking stock, and she nodded. 

“Felicity -” he started, his voice a little uncertain, a little tortured. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He forced the words that didn’t want to come out. “You helping me. It might not be a good idea.” 

Hackles rising, Felicity crossed her arms. She should have expected it wouldn’t be so easy. “What changed? You seemed to think it was a good idea for the past few months.”

Oliver shook his head, denying her words. “I questioned it every day. I didn’t know you, but I could tell you were a good person. Someone who shouldn’t be involved in this life. And now -”

“Now nothing, Oliver. You’re right, there’s a lot I don’t know about you. But even before I knew you were _you_ , I could tell you were trying to do good. And now that I’ve met you, I know you’re a good person.” She placed her hand on his chest. “I trust you. Nothing you can tell me will change that.”

He studied her, wanting to believe, but unable to dismiss the fear that he would somehow have a corrupting influence on her. A new thought occurred to him. “You have utter disdain for Oliver Queen - for the man I used to be. A jerk, but a relatively _harmless_ jerk. Yet you help the Hood, despite what he’s done.” 

She easily picked up on the question he wasn’t asking. “You’re right, I don’t have any respect for the Oliver Queen that’s portrayed in the media. Because he only knows how to love himself. But you’re not him, Oliver - and I’m beginning to think you never were.”

He shook his head, “Felicity -”

“Look, I’m not saying I wish I’d known you back then,” she granted, fingers stroking absently down his lapels. “But I’ve worked with you for months, and I can see that you’re trying to improve people’s lives. And yes I know,” she spoke over his protests, meeting his eyes significantly, “I don’t approve of all your methods. But you know what I think? I think that it hurts you every single time it comes to that.” She flattened her hand against his chest. “So no, I don’t approve of the killing. But with my help, maybe you won’t have to. Maybe instead you could save lives, and have fewer casualties...including yourself.” 

His eyes were soft with wonder and disbelief, shifting between hers. “How are you so -” he cut himself off, shaking his head.

She tilted her head, her mind running through all the different ways he could finish that question. “So what?”

He didn’t answer, instead just watching her, not touching her, but oh, wanting to so badly. 

Finally she broke the moment with a pat on his chest before her hand slid away. “Don’t make up your mind right now. Just think about it.” Brusquely, she changed the subject. “Now did you get everything you needed? I downloaded some files that I’ll look through later and left a listening device, but I have a feeling Alonzo won’t be conducting business out of this office for much longer. Since I just called the cops and all. So yeah, let’s get out of here before anyone finds us.”

With that, she made sure the hallway was clear, looped the CCTV to create cover, and followed Oliver out into the corridor, letting him boost her through a window that led to the back alley.

* * *

He followed her wordlessly to her car, their reluctance to part evident in how closely they walked. It’d been a strange night. So much had changed, and there was so much left to say. Oliver’s mind was in overdrive, trying to determine how their relationship would proceed, wondering whether they should go back to pretending not to know each other’s identity. He knew it would be safer to continue as they had been; for her to remain distant from him. Safer to never invite her into his lair, into his life. It was the smart thing to do.

But it wasn’t what he wanted to do.

He shoved his hands in his pockets when she hesitated next to a red Mini Cooper. Cheerful and bright, like Felicity - and like her, having no place in Starling’s seamy underbelly. It felt like a sign that she really and truly didn’t belong to this life, and his stomach dropped at the thought of actually telling her to stay away.

She looked up at him finally, her steady gaze compelling him to meet her eyes squarely. She was fearless, in a way that commanded him to stand up straighter and respond in whole truths. 

It was possible that scared him most of all.

She stuck her hand out and he took it gently, fighting the urge to pull her into his body, wrap his arms around her, feel her heart beating against his chest.

But she only shook his hand, formally. “It was good to finally meet you,” she said, flashing him a mischievous smile that nearly brought him to his knees. 

He found himself automatically smiling in return, charmed, and his previous thoughts flew out of his head. 

Too soon she withdrew her hand and opened her car door, dropping into the driver’s seat. “Felicity,” he called just before she pulls the door shut.

“Yeah?” 

He shook his head, at a loss. He didn’t have words, just the strong impulse to keep her there. “Thanks,” he said lamely.

She smiled graciously. “Any time.”

And then she was driving away, and nothing was settled, and Oliver didn’t know what it all meant. He knew he should have put a definitive end to their relationship, but all he felt was relief that he hadn’t. 

* * *

Felicity sat at her desk at Queen Consolidated, mind endlessly turning over the events of the night before, wondering what would happen next.

She wasn’t blind to the very real danger she had been in. She was very aware that the risk would only grow if she continued her partnership with Oliver. But somehow, rather than scare her, the idea made her feel safe. Learning Oliver’s identity, finally knowing the whole man, changed everything, and she couldn’t bear the idea of going back to the way things were, just helping on the side, communicating via note. Not when she was more invested in his mission than ever.

Not after that kiss.

A throat cleared from above her, interrupting her reverie.

“Felicity Smoak?” Her eyes flew up to meet his striking blue gaze, flashing with amusement. “Hi. I’m Oliver Queen.”

Her jaw dropped, causing the pen to fall out of her mouth. “I know who you are,” she blurted. The double meaning of her own words stopped the ramble that would have fallen from her lips, and she smiled hesitantly. The corners of his mouth tilted up in response. There was a long pause as they watched at each other, knowing smiles lighting their faces, then he looked away, chuckling self-consciously. 

He looked almost bashful. But if she knew anything, it was that Oliver Queen did not do bashful.

Then he glanced back up, and the smile fell off her face at his earnest look. “You do,” he said softly, the words accompanied by a nod and a long, piercing gaze. “I was wondering…,” he said finally, eyes flying to the ceiling briefly, “would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

Felicity gaped, speechless. 

“Please,” he added, injecting all the things he couldn’t say into the pleading look he gave her. The moment lingered as mutual awareness crackled between them, of the relationship they’d built over months, the trust, the understated flirting, the way the attraction had flared to life when they finally met face to face. The kiss.

“That depends on what you have planned for dessert,” she replied seriously, thinking of the unsettled status of their partnership, before her eyes widened in horror. “No!” she exclaimed, continuing in an urgent whisper, “I just meant, will I be invited to your secret lair? With the green leather?” Shaking her head and pulling herself together because this was important, she clarified, “What I meant to say is that we left things kinda up in the air as far as me helping you goes, and I...I don’t want to be sidelined, Oliver. I’m already a part of this and frankly, you need me.”

“Felicity,” he said quietly, with an intensity that brought her ramble to an end. “Yes.” He gazed at her steadily. “To all of it.” 

She stared back, a slow smile overtaking her face. “Well okay then. Then yes.” Off his parted lips and hopeful expression, she elaborated, “To all of it.”

His face broke out into the first wide smile she’d ever seen, all dimples and sparking blue eyes, and her stomach swooped and she almost had to sit down, and how was that even legal? “Okay then,” he answered in a lower tone, his eyes dropping to her lips. “Because I seem to remember we have some unfinished business that got interrupted.” 

At that, Felicity’s legs did give out, and she fell back into her seat. “Okay,” she responded weakly. 

Relenting on the flirting offensive, he circled around the desk, dropping down next to her, watching his fingers as they threaded through hers. “Thank you,” he said seriously, squeezing her hand. 

Felicity’s nerves melted away as she laid the palm of her other hand on his cheek. Sure, he was _Oliver Queen,_ but really he was just Oliver. “You’re welcome.” 

He leaned into her palm, closing his eyes and sighing. “It’s not always going to be easy,” he cautioned.

She remained silent until he opened his eyes, blue meeting blue and holding. “Nothing that matters is ever easy,” she told him with conviction.

He smiled back, nodding against her hand. “Okay,” he breathed, and it was a surrender. He stayed there for several moments, soaking her in, before standing up only to lean down and press a long kiss to her forehead. When he pulled back, he was looking at her deeply, his lips curved in a barely-there smile. “Then from now on we’re partners, Felicity Smoak.” 

“Partners. Me, you, and that guy who’s been helping you.”

Surprise washed over Oliver’s face, then amusement. “You know about him too, huh?”

She tilted her head at him as if to suggest he should have guessed as much. 

Oliver shrugged in response, because yeah, he should have guessed. “The three of us, then.”

Felicity lifted alarmed eyebrows. “But not for the date part, right? You were serious about that, right? Because as nice as that kiss was last night, plastic zip-ties were _not_ the kind of bondage I imagined for us. Not that I imagined us involved in any kind of BDSM scenario. Though if the thought _had_ occurred to me, it really wouldn’t be my fault. _I’m_ not the one with a penchant for leather.” She folded her lips over her teeth to prevent any more words spilling out, watching him with wide eyes. “Or, we could pretend I said something way smoother.”

Oliver gazed back at her, eyes lit with amusement. He leaned back down, placing his hand on her cheek, lips going to her ear. “I was very serious about that part, Felicity.” He brushed his lips over her cheek before backing away. 

Felicity swallowed, watching him leave, holding his intense gaze. 

“And for the record,” he added, “next time I will definitely be using my mouth.” He winked, shooting her a look that left no doubt of his intentions. “See you tonight.”

Just before he made it to the door, she replied, “Yes you will, Oliver Queen. Tonight, and every night. You’re stuck with me now.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to stop the smile. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING! And for being Olicity fans. Olicity fans are the best.
> 
> Second, FIND ME ON TUMBLR: https://allimariexf.tumblr.com/ Send me prompts. Send me asks. Talk to me about Arrow. TALK TO ME! I am very friendly, I promise.
> 
> Third, another shout out to [Swiftlet_in_the_Cloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swiftlet_in_the_Cloud) to whom this story is dedicated. Thanks for the inspiration, and the _permission_ to write early Olicity, which I confess is my favorite. Though this is the first time I've ever written season 1(ish) Olicity. Hope it was okay.
> 
> Love y'all, and SEE YOU AROUND (because we made a pact to keep writing and reading Olicity fic forever, remember? Okay).

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone. I have so much to say that I can't put into words.
> 
> Writing this was hard because it felt so final, even though for me OLICITY WILL NEVER END and I still have SO MANY STORIES to tell, including 1 WIP that is half done that I haven't begun posting (will finish it before I begin posting it, no worries), and a _bunch_ that are posted on here that I will be getting to after that. 
> 
> It's been a super tough year for me, for a number of reasons, and Emily leaving, and Arrow ending, took away the one good thing that had been getting me through. Struggling to find a sense of equilibrium has been difficult, but so many of you have been here for me, in a million important ways, and that is something that will never end. Thank you! LOVE YOU!


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